


Invisible Strings

by soundtracktojune



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anxiety, But does he live?, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Healing, Is it a fix it though?, Minor James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Multi, Mystery, No spoilers in the tags, POV Alternating, POV Third Person, References to Depression, Regulus Black & Sirius Black - Freeform, Regulus Black Deserves Better, Slow Burn, The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 19:56:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29971506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soundtracktojune/pseuds/soundtracktojune
Summary: The string tying her to him was slack where it had previously been non-existent. Her curiosity was failing to be satiated. Instead, it hummed in the background like static.One life. Whereas the deaths of the Potters had been like shrapnel, the death of Regulus Black had been like a drop in a pond. This is nonsense, Hermione thought. What ifs could drive a person mad and she was already teetering on the edge.***She survived by an inch of her life only to stumble into another oncoming train. The First Wizarding War was on the horizon and by some sick twist of fate, Hermione knew which participants were lambs for the slaughter.
Relationships: Regulus Black/Hermione Granger
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	1. Chapter 1

September 1977

Standing among the crowd of first-years was a girl who, though petite, was clearly not eleven. Instead, she looked like she belonged with the sixth or seventh years, though her uniform had no color indicating which house she belonged to. Her large brown eyes were fixed on the front of the Great Hall, despite the stares and whispers from the student population. 

“Is it just me or are the first years getting bigger?”

“I heard she’s a transfer from Beauxbatons.”

“I thought she was from Australia?”

“No, mate. She’s English, but homeschooled. Her entire family was killed by Death Eaters.”

“Blimey. Is that true?”

“I heard she was Dumbledore’s great-niece.”

“Wait, really?”

“Or actually, it might’ve been McGonagall’s niece?”

“Shhh—she’s standing right there.”

If the girl could hear the whispers, she didn’t let it show. While the first years around her were fidgeting, nervous and wide-eyed at the splendor of the Great Hall around them, her gaze was steady. Her rigidity was only slightly offset by her large brown curls, which seemed to take breaths of their own, shifting at the slightest of movements.

The Great Hall was filled with murmurs about the new witch. The Ravenclaw table tempered their whispers of excitement with logic, conceding that they really only had a twenty-five percent chance of welcoming the witch to their house. The Slytherin table racked their brains to see if they recognized her from a pureblood society event and the Hufflepuffs offered wide smiles and an occasional wave—all of which were ignored.

At the Gryffindor table, the conversation was no different. James Potter and Sirius Black were taking bets on her house; Lily Evans was rolling her eyes; and Remus Lupin was offering a steady argument for why he thought the witch would be placed in Gryffindor. Peter Pettigrew just nodded along.

Professor McGonagall steadily made her way through the list of names. 

“This year, we have a transfer student finishing up her seventh year with us at Hogwarts. Please do your best to welcome her. Hermione Granger!”

The witch strut up to the Sorting hat and sat herself on the stool, an almost bored expression on her face as Professor McGonagall placed the hat over her thick brown curls.

Two minutes past. Then three. It was coming close to being a true hatstall and the Great Hall was tittering with anticipation. Judging from the expression on her face, the girl and the Sorting Hat seemed to be having an intense mental conversation.

“Finally, something interesting is happening at sorting.” Sirius grinned, gazing up to the front of the hall. “I was beginning to think we needed to spice up the event this year.”

Lily scoffed. “What, like when you lot tried to start a food fight fourth year?”

“Ah…good times. Remember how we warded the doors so no teacher could get in for a full fifteen minutes?” James’s tone was wistful. “That was an impressive bit of magic—thanks for that, Remus, by the way.”

Remus tipped his head in response. “Yes, the rest of you were quite pitiful at charms—except Lily, of course.” 

“Yes, your skills constantly make us look like idiots.” James elbowed her arm, grinning as she attempted to glower at him. 

“James—that’s not a hard thing to do.” The table snickered.

James waved them off. “Let’s plan another food fight this year.”

“Absolutely not. It took me ages to get that pudding you poured over me out of my hair.”

“Lily, that was because you lobbed a carrot at my eye!”

“Well, it didn’t even hit you because I missed—”

“Shhh!” Peter interjected. “I think it’s going to make a decision.”

The Sorting Hat had muttered out a stiff “Fine” and cleared its throat. The Great Hall fell silent.

“Ravenclaw!”

With a small smirk, the girl hopped off the stool and made her way to her new house table. The Ravenclaw table erupted in loud cheers—grateful that something interesting involving a Ravenclaw was finally happening.

“Guess you were wrong, Moony! Time to pay up.” Sirius cackled. “You too, McKinnon! Hey—” 

He was cut off by two bread rolls flying at his head. 

* * *

The Day Before - 1977

“You’re joking.”

The Muggle she had taken the newspaper from let out a small laugh. “That’s what I thought too. Someone walking the whole length of the English Channel? Like magic? But no, this man actually did it. Tied some contraption on his foot and walked! He’s an inventor of some sort. Smart, they are—always a bit mad, though.”

Hermione offered a half-hearted ‘hmm’ in response while the man prattled on. She tried to steady her breath while her mind whirred through a sequence of thoughts that had exponentially gotten more and more panicked from the moment she had spotted the front page of the newspaper. Etched at the top, in large black letters was the date, which she had read and had been rereading ever since she had first grabbed the newspaper from the Muggle’s hands.

**August 31st, 1977**

_Bloody hell. How did this happen?_

Hermione couldn’t pinpoint when the West End had started looking unfamiliar on her walk through Muggle London. There had been a sudden influx of flared corduroys, the hair had gotten shaggier, and the cars—not that Hermione had spent enough time in the Muggle world to develop a deep knowledge of them—but even she noticed that they were a great deal bulkier and more colorful than usual.

The most disturbing thing she had noticed was that there was a glaring gap in her memory. Hermione couldn’t remember what she had been doing before everything had gotten unfamiliar. If it had been August 31st when she had left, she probably would have been in Diagon Alley doing some last minute shopping before returning to Hogwarts for her last year. Or had she done her shopping a couple days early? Then she would have probably been at the Burrow, soaking up the last few moments of summer. It was like the past week had been wiped from her memory. 

_Why can’t I remember anything? Are Harry or Ron also here? Has someone altered my memory? Where were the existing Time Turners—_

“—and it says here that the fellow is planning on walking across the Panama canal too! Imagine that. Might be a whole ocean next.”

Hermione murmured a polite ‘thanks’ and gave the newspaper back, bidding him a quick goodbye. She needed to go someplace private where she could rummage through her purse. It was lucky, she supposed, that she had it practically glued to her side ever since they’d gone on the run last year. That purse and the clothes on her back were the only things she registered on her body at the moment.

_Merlin, my wand better be somewhere in there._

She barreled down the West End streets on her way to the Leaky Cauldron, pace and clothing sticking out against the sea of slow-moving corduroy. The pants of the seventies were high-waisted, the sleeves were flowing, and the hair was big. At least that part of her matched the decade.

As Hermione stepped inside the entrance of the Leaky Cauldron, she plunged her whole arm into her purse, audibly exhaling in relief as she felt the familiar vine wood of her wand. Stepping into Diagon Alley, she mused on her next steps.

She was an interloper. She didn’t belong here. If she was stuck here for more than a year, she was doomed to be a sick sort of spectator to the gruesome events that were to come. The smart thing to do would be to hide away in some small village until she could return to her time—not a place like Hogwarts where she risked running into the younger versions of people she already knew.

But—Hermione had nowhere else to go.

She had no wizard family she could hideaway with until she could return to her time. Her Muggle parents—even if they were able to understand the predicament she was in—had barely started dating in 1977. Hogwarts had been her home for so long. It was familiar. It had felt—for the most part—safe. 

Hermione was fairly certain it had at least been safe in 1977. 

_Why not sort all of this out in a place where I can study for my N.E.W.T.S.?_

It would probably take more than a day to sort out her return journey. And if she went, she could use two of the greatest resources the wizarding world had to offer—Professor Dumbledore and the Hogwarts library.

* * *

There was almost no question she could honestly answer. Once she finished gaping at the sight of Professor Dumbledore alive in his office and twenty years younger—her mouth remained shut to his prying questions.

Hermione couldn’t blame Professor Dumbldore for his curiosity. He was eager—and appropriately cautious—at the discovery of her situation. He would ask her these open questions, tone airy and light but eyes piercing towards her, ready to gleam onto any clues. She was certain if the Unspeakable from the Ministry hadn’t been there, she would’ve been subject to a more in depth interrogation. No, with the Ministry official there it had been more like an orientation.

“You must not do anything to disturb the timeline. You may be privy to certain events that will happen. Please keep them to yourself. You may run into people you know here in the future at Hogwarts. Do _not_ engage with them more than necessary.”

Hermione grimaced. _Best if not at all,_ she thought.

“Remain forgettable,” the Unspeakable continued. “Granger is a common enough surname in Muggle England. You can keep your name here and your seventh year scores can transfer to your time.”

“How long do you think it will be until I can go home?”

The Unspeakable peered at her over her glasses, a frown forming on her lips. “Best focus on your studies, Miss Granger. We will do our best at the Department of Mysteries. Be prepared to stay a couple months—at least.”

“At least? Can’t I just use a Time Turner to go back?”

“We do not just give our Time Turners to people who stumble through time with no recollection of how they did so in the first place.” The Unspeakable frowned. “We need to determine how you got here. This is a great deal more complicated than you going back a few hours, especially since we are currently unable to determine what happened between the gaps in your memory. My department will work on your case.”

The anxiety that she had stymied out of practicality was dangerously close to the surface as a hundred different situations, each one worse than the next, played out across her mind. 

“I—I can’t stay here in 1977.”

“Do not worry, Miss Granger. I can assure you that Muggleborns such as yourself are safe and welcome here at Hogwarts.” Dumbledore had noticed her tense up. “No matter the events that occur outside these walls. In fact, your very existence here gives me hope for the future.”

Hermione gave him a polite smile. They thought she was scared for herself. A Muggleborn witch cast two decades back to a time when blood purity ideals were rising in popularity among a powerful set of wizards. They didn’t know what was to come or how it got worse before it got better. She thought of Dean Thomas and the Muggleborn students who weren’t allowed at Hogwarts the previous year. They had all made plans to go back for their eighth year together.

Her throat tightened. Merlin, she missed them. How long would it be before she would be able to see her friends again? Her parents?

“Thank you, Professor.”

“We can sort you with the first years tomorrow before the feast.”

“Respectfully, sir. That’s hardly a way to remain forgettable.”

“Ah yes, but tradition is tradition. Do not fret, I’m sure some students will pull a spectacle that will take over the conversation the first week. Do watch out for any floating buckets above doorways—they’ve on occasion found their way on the heads of a first year or two.”

Sounds familiar, Hermione thought.

“Not a problem, Professor.”

“And do come round for tea sometime—we can discuss any progress from the Ministry then.”

“Yes, Professor.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For moodboards and excerpts from upcoming chapters, check out my tumblr: soundtracktojune.tumblr.com


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione wondered if she should have leaned into the Beauxbatons rumor and feigned a difficulty with conversational English. The students at Hogwarts were curious, to say the least. She was the first transfer in decades and seventh year at that, plopped into the student population of the only wizarding school in the United Kingdom. The rumors about her ranged from homeschooled orphan to Beauxbatons educated orphan to Australian educated orphan. She had brushed off the Beauxbatons rumor and remained vague about Australia, explaining that she moved around too much to really be from anywhere.

The attention was jarring. Hermione wasn’t used to being the center of it—for academics and leadership positions, yes—but not for being interesting or mysterious. She knew that for most of her life she could be read like an open book. A bleeding heart Gryffindor with wide eyes and all her emotions on her sleeve. But time had taught her to use it to her advantage. Hermione had to admit that she had become an adept liar—Umbridge and Bellatrix could attest to that. Sooner or later, all that the students of Hogwarts would see when they looked at her was a truth she wanted them to see—that she was a bookworm who, at the very present, preferred spending time with books over people. 

Remain forgettable, the Unspeakable had said.

So far, she would say she had been moderately successful in avoiding Gryffindors. 

Specific Gryffindors. A certain…group of them. 

But by gods, was it difficult. They were just so _friendly_.

Lily Evans, upon discovering that she and Hermione shared a majority of seventh year classes, had rushed her on her second day of the term to offer advice on her professors, directions to the potions room, a list of potential Peeves hotspots to avoid and a spare sugar quill. Hermione had recognized her long auburn hair in an instant and had gaped at the Head Girl in a way that she hoped appeared to be borne out of shyness and not shock. Warmth exuded out of Lily Evans. She had so earnestly engaged her in conversation that Hermione had almost cried right then and there at the familiarity.

Feigning a stomachache, Hermione accepted the sugar quill with thanks (she couldn’t resist), and fled back to the Ravenclaw tower. 

Remus Lupin had sat down next to her on the first day of Advanced Arithmancy and introduced himself, eyes just as bright and inquisitive as she remembered. Hermione kept her gaze to the front of the class and tried not to study the differences in his face. Absent were the collection of scars she surmised he would acquire sometime in the next two decades. At least at first glance, this Remus Lupin was unmarred and unscathed. 

The next class she made a point to arrive right at the start so the only seat open was next to a surly Slytherin in the front row.

James Potter and Sirius Black—you rarely ever saw one without the other, she discovered—didn’t let the fact that she was sitting at the Ravenclaw table and not the Gryffindor table stop them from plopping down in front of her and peppering her with questions her first week there. Her mouth had dropped open at the sight of them up close. James was every bit a sight of Harry as people had said. Though, his messy dark curls were pushed back with a confident smile instead of Harry’s sheepish grin. Sirius was exuberant and loud with snark that felt like a high-five instead of a slap—a long way from the broken man she, Harry, and Ron had first met in their third year. 

With an aim to appear as boring as possible, Hermione had droned on about an essay until abruptly abandoning them at the table, exclaiming about a forgotten assignment.

At least Peter Pettigrew was so shy he could barely look at her. She’d probably hex him if he did. He was always scurrying after the rest of the Marauders, offering a laugh to one of their jokes or a chuckle to their wry observation. Without them, Peter was quiet and it seemed like he would shrink if exposed to even the slightest scrutiny

Her housemates were a good reprieve. She found them to be superior studying partners—though she still did a majority of it alone—and they didn’t chastise her for spending all her spare time in the library. Though Hermione, determined to remain apart from them, had brushed off any invitations that didn’t involve academics. 

In her quest to make as little of an impact as possible on the student population of Hogwarts, Hermione found herself alone more often than not and in the library more frequently than she had been since third year. It was not an unfamiliar feeling, being alone. How many times did Harry or Ron runoff and ignore her for weeks? Back then, she always had her books…and Hagrid. 

Hermione had felt disappointed. There was no way she could visit Hagrid. She could hardly remain forgettable if she bawled her eyes out to the game keeper, something she was half-certain she would do if she spoke even a word to him.

But while Hermione had experience with loneliness, she was wholly unprepared for the specific kind of pain that came along with being face to face with people she knew would die in incredibly unfair and painful ways.

So Hermione hid away in the library, studying for her N.E.W.T.S. and reading through every book Madame Prince had on time travel. Few students seemed to visit the library as often as Hermione and the ones that did seemed to share her desired level of social interaction. 

That is—zero. 

_So here are the bookworms and loners_ , she thought as she swept her eyes around the library. It was early on a Saturday and still the beginning of term. Few students were there in the library with her.

There was young Ravenclaw in the back corner huddled with a book and a pair of Hufflepuffs scribbling on parchment near the front wall. Diagonal from where she was and a few tables away sat a Slytherin with his brow furrowed in his book and black hair swept over his face.

Hermione felt a faint prickle of recognition.

 _Do I know him?_

Something about him seemed familiar but Hermione was struggling to place him. Could he be a Death Eater she had faced in battle before? Dolohov was too old to still be at Hogwarts. Mulciber and Avery—they would have graduated by now. Hermione gripped her book tighter as she continued to stare at the Slytherin, frowning. Or was she misremembering? Had they also been students at Hogwarts with the Marauders?

She had been staring too long. The Slytherin looked up. As quick as his eyes met hers their shared gaze was even quicker broken as Hermione dropped her head back down into her book. As she read the next paragraph on Eloise Mintumble’s hazardous journey through time, she could feel his eyes prickling the top of her head.

 _Good Gordric._ Hermione thought. _Better nip his curiosity in the bud now._

Looking up, she gave him a pointed stare. “Can I help you?” 

The Slytherin seemed surprised that she had spoken to him. A beat passed and then he offered a raised eyebrow. His black hair shifted at the movement, sweeping over his face and partially obscuring his gaze.

 _Okay, then_. 

Hermione returned to her book. So the library wasn’t entirely safe from inquisitive Hogwarts students. 

_I guess I was staring at him first_ , she grumbled to herself.

She would have to remember to keep her curiosity in check.

* * *

“Hey! Hermy. Wait.”

Hermione stopped but didn’t turn around. She recognized that voice.

Sirius Black jogged over and stopped himself in front of her, blocking her exit from the hall and grinning.

“It’s Hermione.” She didn’t smile back at him. She hadn’t spoken to him since their first conversation at the Ravenclaw table and had ignored any of his subtle attempts to get her attention in their shared classes.

“Too many syllables. How about Herms?” He was still grinning at her. She wished he would stop. It reminded her of the summer at Grimmauld Place before her fifth year. Sirius was probably the happiest she’d ever seen him back then. He might’ve been stuck in the house that summer, but he was stuck there surrounded by everyone he cared about.

Hermione frowned. “Isn’t it the same amount of syllables as your name?”

“Ah—” Sirius chucked. “You’re right. How fortuitous. It’s probably an indicator of what good friends we’ll be.”

An eye roll slipped out before she could stop it, dutifully accompanied by a smile. Sirius was every bit like he was in the future…except happier, unencumbered, without the weight of twelve years of Azkaban hanging on his shoulders. This Sirius was as bright as his namesake star.

“She smiles! Well, I have accomplished everything I’ve set out for in life. I can die happy.”

She stopped smiling.

“Anyways,” Sirius continued. “I wanted to personally extend an invitation to a party that is happening tonight at the Gryffindor common room. First party of the school year. It’s going to be great.” He put a hand over his heart and continued, expression serious. “Per Professor McGonagall, it is our duty to extend the warmest of welcomes to our new seventh year. In the name of inter-house unity, we humbly extend the invitation to Ravenclaw.”

Hermione couldn’t help the next words that tumbled out of her mouth. “So I get an invite because Professor McGonagall made you?”

“No, no—” His eyes darted to hers. He hadn’t been expecting that response.

Hermione, biting back a grin, tried to look offended. Teasing him felt fun. She’d never been able to properly do it before. “It’s like we’re in nursery school and a teacher told you that you have to give a Valentine to every person in class.” 

“It’s not like that. What I mean is—” Sirius fidgeted, running his fingers through his hair.

Hermione knew he played with his hair when he was nervous or embarrassed. She had last seen it that summer at Grimmauld Place when Lupin had hilariously relayed story after story of their time at Hogwarts and Sirius’s many failed attempts at—wait, oh gods. Was he trying to flirt with her?

“You see, Hermione—wait, what’s nursery school? Do you go to school with trees?”

Harry’s godfather? Who was old enough to be her father? Just no—a million times no. Hermione was afraid she had just opened a can of worms she never ever wanted to see the light of day.

“Um, yes—trees. No—sorry—to the invite.”

“No?”

“It’s just—I have so much schoolwork to catch up on.”

“Oh, well—”

“I’m sorry.” Hermione needed to find a swift exit to this conversation. If she could blush she was sure her entire face would’ve been red by now.

“It’s okay—”

“I have to go now but thank you for the invite.”

She darted out of the Great Hall. 

Blimey. Lupin was right. If this was Sirius flirting, he was terrible at it.

* * *

Hermione felt like she wanted to throw up. The feeling had started the minute the professor had walked in in the door.

“Hello everyone. Apologies for not being at the welcome feast—and for the delay in the start of classes. I had to tie up a few things at the Ministry. My name is Professor Gideon Prewett. I’ve been an Auror for the past four years and I will be your Defense Against the Dark Arts professor this year.”

As his eyes swept across the classroom, Hermione dropped her eyes down to stare at her desk. 

Gideon Prewett. One of Mrs. Weasley’s younger brothers. Dead by the end of 1981, along with his brother Fabian and five Death Eaters. She thought she had already met all the ghosts. Now she was face to face with a member of the family who had practically adopted her.

It was hard enough having classes with most of the Gryffindors. It being their N.E.W.T. level year meant that there were no more house divisions in class schedules anymore. Gryffindors, Slytherins, Ravenclaws, and Hufflepuffs all took classes together. Inter-house relationships weren’t so different from her time. The Gryffindors and Slytherins sat at opposite ends with a mix of Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs between them. 

Hermione had picked a seat in the back—wincing as she did so—in an attempt to put as much distance as she could with herself and the other students.

“You’re all seventh years now. The textbooks you have on your desks—I don’t want you to have them open—save that for after class. I’m going to put you in some challenging situations where you will have to think on your feet. Do well this year and you’ll be able to protect yourself and the people you care about.” He grinned at them. “Do even better and maybe I’ll see you next year at the Auror Office.”

There were a few laughs. Hermione was certain she was going to hurl.

“Alright, pair off and spread out. We’re going to be doing some light dueling today. Now, no need to feel nervous. Today is just about understanding your baseline. We’ll build up from there throughout the year.”

The class paired off. Lily was opposite a blonde witch. Sirius was across from James and Remus in front of a brunette Ravenclaw she didn’t recognize. Pettigrew had not taken DADA with them.

“Miss Granger? Care to participate?” 

Hermione hadn’t stood up from her seat.

“Oh, erm…” She trailed off. It wasn’t that she had walked into class with a plan to not participate. Her legs had just remained locked.

Prewett stared at her, expectant.

“Uh, respectfully sir…I’m a pacifist?” Hermione knew the moment that word left her lips she sounded ridiculous. Someone snorted. She didn’t know who. Practically the whole class was watching the exchange.

Prewett gave her a small smile. “Yes, that’s why we call it _Defense_ Against the Dark Arts. Now, if you please, Miss Granger.” He gestured for her to join him at the front of the class.

Hermione stood up, stiffly. It looked to the class like she didn't have the stomach for any of it, but Hermione was weary—not weak. She knew the difference and she honestly didn’t care if her classmates didn’t. Her stomach was just fine. She just had enough _defense_ against the dark arts for a lifetime.

“I’ll partner up with you. So you don’t have to worry about hurting any of your fellow classmates.”

She gave him a small smile and joined him at the front of the classroom. It wasn’t the way he said it—he was trying to be nice—but Hermione couldn’t help but feel miffed at his words.

“Alright everybody, back to your partners. Remember, this is a friendly duel. Stick with your stinging jinxes, your jelly-legs, and so on.”

The class resumed their duels while Hermione stared down the ginger haired professor. Apart from the obvious hair, she could see how much he looked like Mrs. Weasley. They had the same kind eyes.

“Ready, Miss Granger?” He raised his wand arm up.

She matched his stance and nodded.

Prewett sent out a quick Expelliarmus at the start, no doubt testing to see if she would keel over at the slightest of offense spells. She easily blocked it and threw up a shield. She could see the professor making calculations in his head—the way she gripped her wand, her quick wrist movements—her reaction was not one of an amateur. 

Hermione blocked a series of small stunners he sent over and threw up another shield. Prewett had started out at a cautious pace but noticed how quick she was to block his spells. Keeping on the defensive, she parried his next few.

“Granger, be more on the offensive! Don’t let me back you into a corner.”

She could feel eyes on her. Most of the class had paused on and off to watch their duel at the front of the classroom. A few of their remarks snaked their way into her ears.

“Two galleons—the new girl won’t last another minute.”

“Nah, professor’s going to take it easy on her. I’d bet you another minute and a half.”

“Come one, she’s a girl and he’s an Auror. It’ll be over before you know it.”

Hermione tightened her grip on her wand. 

_I’m done,_ she thought. _I’m done holding back_. 

She hadn’t wanted to stand out but she wasn’t going to fake a weakness. She was a Gryffindor, in her time, for a reason. Her pride could get the best of her. Combine that with her temper? Hermione was ready to give them a show.

She sent an Expelliarmus to Prewett, who blocked it deftly and countered with a silent Stupefy. Their back and forth continued—almost like a dance—with Hermione now matching Prewett at every step. She moved on from a purely defensive strategy and leaned back into the dueling style she had developed during her fifth year in Dumbledore’s Army.

Hermione had always been an aggressive spell caster. Her dueling style had developed into an almost relentless barrage of spell after spell, though she had learned from Harry how to be a more instinctual fighter. 

Prewett was agile and had a couple years over her in experience, but Hermione was holding her own. She had been through a war, after all.

Thinking about how Harry had always used the environment to his advantage, she sent her next spell at Prewett. But instead of aiming at the shield she knew he had cast in anticipation, she flicked upward. Her spell struck the ceiling above her professor. Stone crumbled and fell, slamming right into the shield Prewett had quickly erected above his head. The students nearest to him jumped back as the stones rolled off onto the floor around him.

Twenty pairs of eyes glanced between Prewett and Hermione, whose jaw had gone slack at the sight of the destruction.

“Bloody hell.” She couldn’t tell if those words had come out of her mouth or another student’s mouth.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—” Hermione stammered as Prewett, taking a look to make sure he could remove his shield, stepped around the wreckage of the fallen ceiling.

“No—don’t apologize, Miss Granger.” He gave a chuckle. “You did exactly what you were supposed to do. I was pushing you. You just pushed back.” He nodded at her. “Good job.”

Good job? She had just made the ceiling cave on top of him.

“Pacifist you may be, Miss Granger, but amateur you are not.” Prewett grinned at her and turned to the rest of the class. “Did everyone see what she did that last move there? Be aware of your surroundings, use the environment. I want you to build up your instincts this year so you’re ready outside the classroom. Now, maybe in the future, we could do with a little less destruction of property, but excellent work today everyone. Keep it up.”

He took another glance at the pile of ceiling on the classroom floor.

“Alright, that’s enough for today. Make sure to do next weeks’ reading before you come to class and I want two rolls of parchment on the Patronus charm.”

The moment he finished speaking, Hermione grabbed her book bag and ran out of the classroom before anyone could stop her for a conversation. Her head pounded as she rounded the corner into the nearest girl’s bathroom.

 _Please let it be empty_ , Hermione thought.

Her sigh of relief as she entered the bathroom turned into a short breath. Then another and another and another until she was sliding to the ground gasping for air, barely breathing through her sobs.

The last time she had used magic like that was at the final battle.

How many people did she see die that day?

How many people was she responsible for killing?

It felt unfair to count herself among the wreckage of Hogwarts when she had survived while others had not, but some days she let herself feel the entire expanse of her pain. She wasn’t sure where the boundaries ended. Some days it felt borderless.

Hermione gripped the tile on the floor and tried to slow her breaths. Her head was pulsing and mouth dry, except for the blood left where she had bit down on her tongue. 

_I need to focus on getting home._

Home. Did she even have a home anymore? 

Her parents had barely been speaking to her since she had restored their memories over the summer. They had chosen to remain in Australia, unable to fully trust their only daughter after she had altered their minds without consent. She had hoped to work on mending the rift between them during Christmas break.

_Focus._

_My parents hate me._

_I’ll never see them again._

_I’ll never see any of my friends again._

_I’m alone here._

_Get off the floor._

The cycle of thoughts continued until she almost passed out from dehydration.

* * *

The next morning she woke up to find that during the night she had scratched the scar on her left forearm until it bled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For moodboards and excerpts from upcoming chapters, check out my tumblr: soundtracktojune.tumblr.com


	3. Chapter 3

“Sod it.” She huffed and crossed her arms. Her situation was getting more and more hopeless. Two weeks had passed and the Unspeakables still hadn’t returned any of her owls. She was still no closer to returning to her own time than she was when she first arrived. Her days were spent alone, mostly in the library, avoiding the prodding eyes of Dumbledore, her housemates, and Gryffindors. She couldn’t keep going through the same routine. She didn’t do well doing nothing.

Hermione stomped out of the library and ran hard into what she felt like was a column of books.

“Aargh!”

“Shit. No, the books—”

It  _ was _ a column of books. Well, propped up in the hands of a person. She had run straight into another student and sent the pile he was carrying out of his arms, each book plopping off the precarious pile one by one onto the floor.

Hermione winced at the first thud and tried and failed to catch the next book before it hit the ground, accidentally smacking the student’s arm instead.

“Gods! I thought someone coming from the library at this hour would have more respect for books.”

“I do! I just—”

He groaned as he bent down to pick up the books scattered across the floor. “Your first casualty.” He gestured to a copy of  _ Quidditch Maneuvers of the Decade  _ on the floor with a big crease across the front cover.

“You honestly can’t blame that on me.” Hermione felt affronted at the accusation. “You were the one running around a blind corner!”

“Hardly.” His voice was dry. “I set a leisurely pace.” 

She huffed at that and followed him to the ground, gingerly picking up the book nearest to her.  _ Frankenstein _ by Mary Shelley. 

_ A Muggle book. Interesting _ .

As he reassembled the stack of books in his hands and looked at her, she realized that he was the Slytherin from earlier in the library. His black hair was wavy but it fell almost rigid around his face today, not a hair out of place. That combination with his grey-blue eyes was familiar, but Hermione still hadn’t figured out where she knew him from. She was fairly certain, though, that he wasn’t a Death Eater she knew from the future.

“You’re the transfer.”

Hermione wondered what version of the rumors about her had made its way to the other side of the Great Hall. “Five points to Slytherin,” she said. “For your powers of observation.” 

He cocked his head at her, almost like he was amused at her snipe, though his face didn’t give anything away. “This is my  _ personal _ copy of  _ Quidditch Maneuvers of the Decade _ . Personal. Not just some tired old library copy.”

Hermione didn't take the hint. In fact, she swatted it away. “The decade’s not yet over so I’m guessing it’s about the last decade.” Crossing her arms, she smiled at him, all saccharine and snark. “You  _ might  _ want to update your reading material to something more current.”

He blinked. “Any recommendations?”

Hermione almost snorted. “Can’t help you there, I’m afraid.” She gave him a parting nod and proceeded back down the corridor.

“Wait.”

She stopped. The Slytherin glanced at her hands.

“You still have my book.”

“Oh.” Her hands had been gripping the Muggle book hard, like it was a lifeline to her parents. She walked back and delicately placed it at the top of the Slytherin’s stack.

Standing there in front of him, Hermione felt compelled to offer a goodbye of sorts. “It’s a great book.”

“I know.” There was a pause and then the faintest glimpse of a smirk. “It’s a personal copy.”

Hermione raised her eyebrows at that remark but she didn’t pry. A Slytherin with a Muggle book was a curious thing but the distance she kept from the other students at Hogwarts was for all of their benefits.

“Got it.”

“You can borrow it, if you’d like.” The Slytherin shifted the stack in his arms, his eyes on hers.

Hermione felt herself hesitate. “I’m good.”

“Alright.” His tone was neutral. If he was disappointed, Hermione couldn’t tell. If he had only said that to be polite—well, she couldn’t tell that either.

“Okay.” This was probably one of the longest conversations she’s ever had with a Slytherin student that didn’t end with an insult. “I’ll be going then.” 

“Try not to maim any books on your way out.”

_ Nevermind. _

She paused her retreat. “You seem to do enough damage on your own.”

He just raised his eyebrows in response and Hermione turned back to head down the corridor.

Frankenstein was one of her favorite Muggle books. She really hoped he wouldn’t turn out to be a Death Eater.

***

The lack of news from the Unspeakables had not stopped the headmaster from trying to learn more about her life and Hermione had finally avoided enough missives from him that it warranted an appearance from a Hogwarts house elf. 

With a sudden  _ crack _ the house elf popped in to the right of her canopy bed. 

“Excuse me, miss.”

“Oh, hello.” Hermione gave a small, pained smile at the elf, taking in the sight of the Hogwarts crest on the elf’s tea-towel toga. “How can I help you?”

“Miss ,  Professor Dumbledore would like to see you in his office.”

“What did you say your name was? I’m Hermione.”

“I’m Betsy, miss.”

“Nice to meet you, Betsy. I’m afraid I can’t meet with Professor Dumbledore. It’s just that I’m so busy — ”

“Please, miss.” Betsy squeaked. “It’s just that Professor Dumbledore is insisting and lunch is soon and Betsy has to get back — ”

“No problem—Betsy, thank you. I’ll go over there straight away.” She gave the elf a smile and moved to put away her book.

“Thank you, miss.” The elf bowed and disappeared with a  _ crack _ .

As Hermione made her way to Professor Dumbledore’s office, she thought about the headmaster. For most of their time at Hogwarts, she felt that his life had been shrouded in mystery. Dumbledore had been this almost mythical presence in their lives—there to answer all of their burning questions at the end of every year until he suddenly wasn’t. 

Then came the flood of revelations. Only in his death did Dumbledore shed his fabled visage to become an actual person. 

How many secrets could a person keep until the truth drowned them from the inside out?

This time Hermione was the one with all the secrets.

“Miss Granger, these jumps in time—they can be accidents or they can be deliberately done.” Professor Dumbledore gave her a concerned look as he paced around his study. It looked exactly as she remembered it twenty years in the future. “By someone or to someone.”

Hermione dug her fingernails into her clasped hands. “You think someone may have done this to me?”

“It is the more likely scenario. Can you think of any specific reason why they would send you to this year?”

It was an understatement to say that the years to come would be eventful. But Hermione knew better to share any news of it with Professor Dumbledore. There was no telling of the magnitude of consequences she would conjure up if she interfered with the coming events in the timeline.  _ Eloise Mintumble accidentally erased twenty-five people from time when she went back, _ Hermione thought.  _ What damage would I be doing? _

“No, I can’t think of any reason.” Hermione paused. “I live a pretty boring life, actually. I read a good amount.” Smoothing down the front of her skirt, she continued. “I’m very focused on my studies and I want to work for the Ministry when I graduate. My N.E.W.T.S. are my highest priority.”

Professor Dumbledore peered at her over his spectacles. While she hadn’t been all that forthcoming, Hermione hadn’t given him any reason to think she was lying either. 

She gave him an apologetic smile. “So I’m really having difficulty coming up with any reason as to why I would be sent back here by anyone. Also, I’m Muggleborn so I don’t have any family connections to this time and place.”

“I see,” Dumbledore nodded. “The Unspeakables are still working on your case and have no answers for us yet. But please do come to me if anything comes to mind.” 

He continued. “You could think of some small thing as inconsequential, but it could be essential to cracking the mystery surrounding your appearance. It would be best if you offered up a memory or two from your last year to examine, but I understand you already declined to do that. Would you reconsider?”

Hermione shook her head. “Respectfully, no, sir. I’ve read enough about time travel to understand how dangerous that would be.”

“Yes, you’re right. We most certainly don’t need to go down that path yet.” He smiled at her.

She tried to smile back.

Dumbledore had no knowledge of how truly devastating the next few years would be. It would not be a fun glimpse into the future. No—knowledge of what was to come would be a burden she wouldn’t wish on anyone.

“Please let me know if I can do anything to make this easier for you.”

“Of course, professor. Thank you.”

***

Hermione wandered out of Dumbledore’s office, mulling over her conversation with him. It would’ve felt so easy to rely on the headmaster. He had his secrets, but he also always seemed to have answers.

She sighed.

The weight of her self-isolation felt heavier now. The scar of her forearm had bled every morning since her first DADA class. The last time it had consistently bled like this was in the weeks following the final battle. She had tried wrapping it in bandages to keep herself from scratching at it during the night but she always found them loosened or unraveled among her bedsheets in the morning. 

_ What’s the alternative?  _

_ Only utter and total chaos in time. _

She missed her friends.

_ Maybe there is some sort of time-release spell, or— _

Hermione paused and thought about who was there to greet her every year without fail. 

_ Of course! The Fat Lady.  _

It was certain that in September of 1998 the portrait of the Fat Lady, Gryffindor gatekeeper and operatic talent, would be there for the returning seventh years. If the portrait could pass along her message, Hermione could get word to Ginny or Neville about her situation. At the very least, she could let them know she was safe.

Hermione took the familiar path up to the Gryffindor tower and placed herself in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady.

“Hello.”

“Hello dear. Password?” The Fat Lady smiled at her.

“I’m a Ravenclaw.”

“Well you’re at the wrong door, dearie. Can’t let you in without a password.”

“I actually wanted to talk to you.”

“Oh, I have a fan! What can I help you with?”

The words flew out of her mouth. “I was wondering if you could pass along a message. It’s...it’s for the future? September 2nd, 1998 should be good. I—I don’t think I’ll be there to give it myself. I know it’s such an unusual request but I swear it’s super important and I would be so grateful if you could do it.”

The Fat Lady peered at her. “You want me to pass along a message twenty one years from now?”

“Yes.”

“Remember a message for twenty one years? And remember when I’m to deliver it?” 

“Yes, I know it’s an odd request—”

“Oh dear, I’m not sure I could do that—”

“Please.” Hermione tried to take a steadying breath. “Please, I know it’s a lot to ask but it’s really important. It’s hard to explain but there are people twenty one years in the future that I need to leave a message for.” 

The Fat Lady seemed to pick up on her desperation. Either that or she knew this was the quickest way she would be left alone. “Oh alright. I’ll do my best.”

Hermione felt like she could almost cry with relief. She was finally doing something.

***

September 1998

The Fat Lady always looked forward to the start of the school year at Hogwarts. The return of students meant the return of an eager audience. She had been working on a few new arias over the summer and was excited to showcase what she thought was an expansion in her vocal range. 

It took only a few days into the new term, however, for the Fat Lady to register the decreased amount of enthusiasm for her performances compared to previous years. She observed that the events of the last year had certainly put a damper on spirits, not least on the group of seventh year Gryffindors, who seemed a great deal more dour than the other years.

The red-haired Head Girl would always mumble the password, either bleary-eyed or furious. The round-faced boy—when he could remember the password—spoke in an almost forlorn manner. The tall dark haired boy—the one who liked to draw—had stopped chatting up the portrait of the painter next to her for drawing tips and would just bustle straight through to the common room. 

The Fat Lady connected the tidbits of conversations she had overheard and attributed the low mood to the whispers about a Gryffindor student who was supposed to come back for their last year but had gone missing.

_ How terribly sad, _ she thought.  _ The students have already lost so many of their friends. _

Few portraits had great memories. Most of them were memories themselves of people long gone. 

The Fat Lady was no exception. 

And so the message from the brown-eyed, bushy haired girl all those years ago remained lost to time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For moodboards and excerpts from upcoming chapters, check out my tumblr: soundtracktojune.tumblr.com


	4. Chapter 4

The past two years had taught Regulus that the only way to hold everything together in his life was to stand as still as possible. A rustle, a shift—the slightest of movements would tear the Black family apart again on the edges his brother had left when he ran away. Life was simple for a Black that could follow directions. Voices stayed at soft tones. Hands remained at their sides. Every edict obeyed was an offering at an altar that promised family. It was a payment for the penance his brother had left in his wake. 

When he found himself too close to crossing the line, too close to smashing all the heirlooms and abandoning his parents to die alone in Grimmauld Place—he imagined himself screaming inside an empty room, where the sounds would bounce off the walls and wash all over him. He imagined it being almost as satisfying as the real thing. 

So Regulus withdrew into the role of the dutiful son, leaving a small corner for himself with books stacked so high up no one could see over them. He could hide in plain sight that way. Only an outline remained—one of a pureblood, Slytherin seeker, heir of the noble and most ancient House of Black. People easily filled in the rest of the sketch themselves. He could walk around all day like that and no one noticed.

That is…until the new Hogwarts student fixed her large brown eyes at the top of his head. 

Regulus had felt a tingle and looked up. As fast as their gaze met, she broke it. Something pulled in his stomach.

This girl had barely spoken to anyone since she arrived at Hogwarts. Yet, even in her quest to remain anonymous—the whole of Hogwarts could see that no one politely avoided more people than she did—she couldn’t help but attract notice. She was similar to his older brother in that aspect. Both of them seemed to take up more space than a person was normally allocated in the world—certainly more than he had been. 

She was hunched over a large tome—close enough to inhale the ink—reading with a kind of urgency, like if she waited too long the words would disappear from the page. She had her brown curls wound up in a bun at the top of her head, so voluminous and inscrutable that he could’ve sworn he spotted a spare quill in there.

She was small in stature and yet Regulus still somehow found her overwhelming.

Then she looked up. 

“Can I help you?” Her voice was brusque.

_ Could you? _ He thought before he could stop himself.  _ I feel like I’m barreling towards something I can’t stop. _

But it was an absurd thing to think and an even more absurd thing to say aloud to a stranger, so he stayed silent and she returned back to her reading.

* * *

“Heads up, Black. Practice has been pushed to Friday night. Be there at 7.” Louis Gainsborough, stocky seventh year and Slytherin Quidditch team captain, called out to him as he entered the Great Hall.

Regulus gave him a short nod in reply and settled himself at the table.

A fellow sixth year on the quidditch team, Augustus Corbet, nodded at him from across the table. “Alright, Black. Where’s your head at this year? N.E.W.T.S. or are you finally going to get a girlfriend?”

“No!” Gainsborough interjected, shooting a stern look at the sixth year. “No distractions. We are  _ not  _ risking the house cup this year.”

Regulus exchanged a look with Corbet. It took little no effort to rile up their quidditch captain.

“Quidditch should be your number one priority. I’m not looking for a repeat of the Lewis-Sham incident.”

Regulus shot his captain an amused look. “It’s not his fault she broke up with him right before we got on the pitch.”

“Bad timing. Also, he graduated!” Corbet chimed in.

Gainsborough glared at the both of them. “Black, Corbet—this is my last year to beat those smug bastards.” He nodded over to the Gryffindor table. Regulus didn’t follow his gaze but knew he was looking at Sirius and his friends. “You both better stay focused. Can’t have my seeker and second-best chaser getting distracted.”

“Sham’s gone now. Doesn’t that make me top chaser?” 

Gainsborough smirked. “We’ll see after tryouts.”

“Ouch.” Regulus chuckled while Corbet shook his head at their team captain.

“Cap, this is why people don’t invite you to parties.”

“All of our parties are in our common room. Everyone is invited.”

“Pfft—I’m not talking about the parties we have in the common room. I’m talking about the ones we have in the forest.”

“Black, do you have parties in the Forbidden Forest?”

“Only when you’re already busy, Gainsborough.”

“And I’m okay with that.” Gainsborough grinned and got up from the table. “See you later at practice. Don’t be late.”

“Aye, aye, captain.”

“Black, keep Corbet in check, will you?”

“I resent that statement.” The sixth year called after Gainsborough’s retreating back. “Regulus is the real mastermind!”

Regulus raised his eyebrows at the lanky chaser before opening the book he had brought with him to breakfast.

“It’s the truth.” Corbet turned his attention back to his breakfast, shoveling eggs into his mouth. “Ignore me all you want, Black, but I have a working theory that you’re behind every diabolically cool thing that has been attributed to Slytherin in recent history. The seventh years always take credit but personally I think they’re unimaginative. Plus, they’re too bad at acting to properly fake that dumb look in their eyes whenever something gets discovered.”

Regulus made a non-committal noise in reply, turning a page in his book.

The sixth year continued. “Like, there was that crate of firewhiskey that appeared out of nowhere before our last party. The kind you can only get in France.”

“Someone probably bribed a house elf.”

“And then there were those eleven carriages that they found on the roof last year decked out in green. You know, the ones that spelled out ‘GO SLYTHERIN’ letter by letter?”

“Courtesy of our loyal quidditch fans, I’m sure.”

“What about the big green boulder that showed up and blocked the entrance to the Gryffindor common room for five hours?”

“Could’ve been anyone.”

“Yes, but it also said ‘Sirius Black is a giant wanker’ on it.”

“Many people would agree with that statement.”

“I’m just saying, no one has been able to legitimately claim credit and you fit the profile.”

“Which is?”

“Slytherin with ample resources who’s skilled at spellwork and prefers to work alone. Someone who’s subtle, not showy. ”

Regulus took a sip of pumpkin juice. “Corbet, what ever will you do with your theory?”

“Nothing. Just letting you know that you’ve got a staunch admirer. Should you wish to reveal your methods.”

Regulus flipped another page in his book. His small acts of rebellion start out as way to feel like he had control over his own life. They were also utterly inconsequential. None of them actually had an impact over any of the things in his life. He wasn’t taking any sort of stand—not like his brother had.

“Ah, it was worth a try.” Corbet shifted his attention across the Great Hall. “Looks like the new girl has gotten more admirers. The Gryffindors won’t leave her alone.”

Regulus followed his gaze to take in the scene at the Ravenclaw table. The new student had started breakfast with a large book as her only companion but now found herself surrounded by a mixture of the bold and the nosey. Her hair was down today. Large brown curls cloaked her shoulders as she nodded along to the conversation happening around her.

“I heard she might be a long lost Dumbledore.”

Regulus turned to look back at his book. “Her last name is Granger.”

“Like Dagworth-Granger? Urgh, the last thing we need is another stuffy pureblood.” Corbet grinned at Regulus. “No offense, of course.”

“Don’t the Corbets come from a long line of French witches and wizards?”

Corbet smirked and replied in a quieter tone. “With a few Muggles here and there, yes.”

“Ah, like every other pureblood family.”

“Black, our generation may be the ones to break the denial train.”

“Not while our parents are still alive. Or most of our cousins, for that matter.”

“That’s for sure.” Corbet hummed in agreement and turned his focus back to the croissant on his plate. Regulus flipped another page.

It was the dirty little secret of pureblood society—because how long could families actually stay ‘pure’ without any real consequences? Purebloods had only lasted this long because they had the help of Muggle blood. 

It starts as a slow process—unlearning the things parents teach you—but then the floodgates open.

When Regulus was younger he believed every word his parents told him. Idolized them and anyone else they held in high esteem. Now he knew better.

But unlike his older brother, he hadn’t taken the next step. He hadn’t publicly denounced his parents and their views. He hadn’t yet been able to carve himself out of the family as an independent person. 

Sirius had been brave where he was not. Where he was scared of losing his family, his brother had already found a new one. 

***

He had talked to her. He had offered to let her borrow his book. His  _ Muggle  _ book. A copy that he specifically avoided parading around the Slytherin common room to save from more than a few raised eyebrows.

Regulus didn’t know why he did any of that. 

Books went sprawling and then there she was on the ground with him. 

The only thing he knew about the new student was that she liked to read. He was half-sure she had been in the library every day since term started, at least every time he had been there.

From a distance, he had seen how she took up space—almost demanded it—from the world around her. 

Some people seemed to apologize for their own presence. Others tried to avoid the simplest of acknowledgements. This girl did neither. She just planted her feet firmly in place—head high and eyes bright, taking in every last bit of detail around her.

Up close, he had felt a pull and in that moment he could’ve sworn she had her own orbit. 

Regulus didn’t consider himself particularly friendly or open. He didn’t make a habit of speaking with students he didn’t know. Least of all students from other houses.

Yet there he had been—asking for book recommendations and offering his own up to borrow.

_ Merlin’s fucking pants.  _ This was the absolute last thing he needed.

**Author's Note:**

> For moodboards and excerpts from upcoming chapters, check out my tumblr: soundtracktojune.tumblr.com


End file.
